


Family Matters

by notjustmom, scrub456



Series: Family is Difficult [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ending of TLD, F/M, M/M, Missing Scenes, because we all know there are a few, how John became family, loose threads in the universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9825044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456
Summary: Filling in some blanks, because I needed to know how the boys became family...and a few other threads that needed pulling.Rating will probably change.





	1. Chapter 1

"Call me."

"Why would I do that?"

"In case you wanted to get a drink."

"A drink of what?"

"That's up to you..."

 

"Anyone can hide behind a sexy smile or a walking stick...did it ever occur to you that Sherlock's secret brother just might be Sherlock's secret sister?"

 

"She was real."

 

John shouldn't have been surprised. It would be almost laughable, if a gun wasn't currently aimed at his face. If he had thought about it more, he would have seen the Holmes snarky humour in E's texts; but for once, he wasn't considering Sherlock or Mary or even Rosie; he had wanted something that belonged to him, even as he knew it was a mistake, he hadn't cared. E (Sherlock's sister, he reminded himself bitterly...of course she was Sherlock's sister) had been a welcome distraction from the farce his life had become.

"He's making a funny face...think I'll put a hole in it."

 

"Mrs. Hudson!"

"Yes, dear?"

"I need the car. It's John. I think he's in trouble."

"Sure you don't want me to drive?"

Sherlock tried to hide a grin, but failed miserably."No, Mrs. H, don't want to endanger the general public again, just need to be sure he's okay."

"Of course." She considered for a moment. "That therapist. I knew there was something off about that one." 

Sherlock nodded. "I should've seen it, but -"

She shook her head. John never had luck with women; if he had just listened to her, that very first evening.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes...thanks Mrs. H." He kissed her cheek as he took her keys, then he flew out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock drove as fast as he could without attracting the unwanted attention of his brother, or any other officious busybody, especially Gr...Gr-. Greg. He allowed himself to consider how far he and John had come since his birthday, a little over a month ago, the day he thought he had lost him for good, but, instead, John had talked, actually talked, he had listened and John had allowed him - 

Faster, damnit! I can't lose him now. I haven't told him, he doesn't know...

 

That's it, I'm done with therapists, especially women...fuckfuckfuc - why can't I move? I should have seen, should have noticed, she has Sherlock's eyes, Sherlock's beautiful eyes - 

Damn. I never told him. I'm so sorry, Sherlock...

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I would never kill my brother's pet, not ag - never mind - but I can't stick around to exchange pleasantries with him, not yet. It's just a mild sedative, you'll be out for an hour or two. Nothing personal, I assure you; I have so enjoyed our little chats. So glad Sherlock finally found another friend -"

John groaned as the dart hit him in the left shoulder just below his old scars. He managed a soft, "Sherlock!" Then everything went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock pulled up sharply to the house, but made himself slow down, he couldn't just dash in, in case she, whoever she was, was holding John hostage. But, she had had plenty of time, it had taken twenty minutes for him to get there, going a little over the suggested speed limit. If she had been smart, she would have just knocked John out and left. Sherlock checked his coat pocket for John's Browning that he had grabbed at the last minute, and immediately felt a bit more confident. He took one last deep breath, then opened the door. He stood up carefully, searching for any possible accomplices, but sensed none. He blew out the breath slowly, and made his way to the front door, which opened at his touch. Damn.

He walked in and stopped suddenly. Faith. Faith had been here. No. The woman he had taken for Faith, 'Not-Faith', as he decided to name her. Same perfume, first mistake she had made. Though an unusual and expensive maker, it was one he had studied extensively for a case, it was a unique enough scent that he should have remembered it from last time, but he was admittedly not at the top of his game that day. 

He looked at the coat rack, a long raincoat, still damp, and pink? He rolled his eyes but made himself focus, longer than what the woman he had seen for a moment could wear; shoes, at least two sizes bigger...so, the real therapist? Too quiet - he walked through the hallway, and into the room where he had fallen into the chair - 

"John!" For a moment, his heart stopped, or at least that's how it felt, until he could make himself move again. He nearly fell over, but caught himself, then crawled over to where John had collapsed. He held John in his arms, and laid his ear over John's heart. "Please, please don't be -"

At that moment, John sputtered and took a deep breath. He flinched and tried to hit out at whoever was holding him captive. "Don't! Get away from me!" He scooted away until he finally opened his eyes and found Sherlock still kneeling and in shock."Sherlock. Shit. I'm sorry. Why? What are you doing here?"

"I found Faith's note, John. It was actually the real Faith's note, but doctored, to throw me off the scent, so to speak, but I missed the message, the whole point of her, the fake her, showing up at my flat. She was real, John, but I don't know -"

"She is your sister, Sherlock." John whimpered, then took a deep breath in and clamped his jaw and eyes shut as he pulled the tiny dart from his shoulder. "Always the left shoulder..." he muttered to himself.

"Sister." Sherlock sat back on his heels, relieved that John was safe, but now he was faced with one word that changed his world forever.

"Eurus." John shook his head. "Means -"

"The East Wind," whispered Sherlock. "John. The East Wind was real."


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow John managed to move just enough to cushion Sherlock's collapse; he cradled his friend in his arms, as he phoned Lestrade.

"Greg."

"John? You never call -"

"Can you track my phone? I just got tranquilised and Sherlock - you'll find out when you get here."

"Yeah, just hold on John, don't hang up, we'll be there-"

"And, Greg, there is probably a corpse in an airing cupboard, you need a crime scene crew, doesn't matter who, Sherlock won't notice who it is, he's not hurt, just in shock."

Lestrade, rubbed his eyes, wondering when the two of them would get ever get a fucking break and got the trace going, then gathered his people together. 

"I don't know what we will find, but no one talks about this to anyONE! Got it?"

"SIR! Yes sir!"

Lestrade thought about getting Mycroft involved, but something told him it wasn't the time.

 

"John?" Sherlock blinked finally, and realised where he was and who was holding him. 

"Yeah, Sherlock, I'm here, mostly, just a bit woozy."

"Did she say anything about me, Eurus, I mean?"

John smirked and brushed Sherlock's curls from his face. "She said you had good taste in chips."

"Hmm. Yeah, those chips. I took her to the best place I know; and chips somehow taste better when it's raining and -"

"And, what?" John managed after a moment, knowing the answer might be something he might not want to know.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes and whispered, "when you think nothing matters anymore."

John took a deep shuddering breath and kissed Sherlock's forehead, then one cheek, then the other. He pulled back, his eyes asking Sherlock for forgiveness, offering the apology he could never say out loud, and seeing something - understanding, compassion, what, he wasn't quite sure, kissed his lips softly then held him tightly against his chest, allowing Sherlock to feel his heart beat, letting him know he was there and never leaving him again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sherlock?" Lestrade was bent over them, looking slightly worried.

"Gra- Greg. Did you find the therapist in the cupboard?"

"Yeah, looks like she was strangled, so - what exactly happened here?"

Sherlock sighed and gently shifted John in his arms. "My, hmm...sister...she uhm, pretended to be John's therapist, after she pretended to be Culverton Smith's daughter -"

"So there was someone at your flat that night?"

"Yeah, there was. She was real, there was a note, I have it in my pocket, we went out in the rain for chips... I didn't know, Greg. I should've known somehow."

"Mate, you weren't -"

"No excuse, I knew there was something about her, and I couldn't -"

"I didn't know you had a sister." 

"No. Neither did I," Sherlock whispered into John's hair.

"Oh. I see. No, I, uhm, I don't -" Greg sat down next to them and took John's pulse.

"He's fine, just sedated. And no, I don't really see yet either. I - most of my life, all of what I thought was true about myself - it turns out -"

Greg shook his head and spoke softly. "No. Sherlock, the person you are today, what you have become is real and true, and good. Whatever came before that you don't know anything about, that doesn't change who you are now."

Sherlock looked up and smiled bitterly. "You don't know that, I don't know that, Greg. All I know is that I have been missing someone most of my life, and I can't remember anything about her. Only what I know from that night, when she, uhm, well, she saved me from -"

"You don't have to tell me -"

"She, gave me the case, she gave me Culverton Smith, and I don't know how she -" Sherlock looked down at John, who was still asleep. "She saved me, she saved John, and I have to..." He drifted off, not knowing exactly what it was he was going to have to do next.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey -" Sherlock tried to smile at John as his eyes fluttered open half an hour later.

"Damn, sorry, must've - Greg got here then?" John tried to scan the room, but his head was too fuzzy still.

"Shh, it's okay, yeah, he's here, as soon as you're ready to go, he said I could take you hom-, uhm back to Baker Street, I don't think you should be on your own. I've texted Molly, she's going to keep Rosie for tonight, no, it's fine, your old room, it's still -" Sherlock's voice broke and he held John tighter.

John looked up into Sherlock's eyes and shook his head, then reached up and touched Sherlock's face, and heard his friend's breath change suddenly. "If you don't mind, I don't think either of us want to be alone tonight, do you? How about we get some take away and watch something dreadfully inane, hmm?" He sat up and tried to get to his feet. "A bit of help?" He grimaced, then relaxed as he saw Sherlock hesitate briefly then nod and pull himself together. They had done this dozens of times, after cases, but they both knew it was different this time, they were both different now. Somehow over the last few weeks, they had finally allowed themselves to become friends once again. More than friends, John realized. They were family, now. Sherlock helped John to his feet with a practiced ease, but more protective this time, perhaps, a bit more gentle than usual.

Lestrade looked up and saw Sherlock's eyes focusing solely on getting John outside to the car and home safely to Baker Street.

"I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon, yeah?"

Sherlock muttered back, "Make sure you knock first?"

Lestrade shook his head but managed to hold in his grin. "Course. Take care of each other, now."

"We will," mumbled Sherlock as he pulled John closer to his side. "We will."


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock drove slowly in case John needed him to pull over, but they made it home without incident. Sherlock parked, then hopped out to help John out of the car.

"I'm okay, Sherlock," John muttered, as he shifted to put his feet on the pavement, but almost fell over as he tried to stand up.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John and whispered, "Let me, please, John?"

John leaned on him and blew out a breath. "Sorry."

"What for?" Sherlock opened the door to 221B and helped John inside.

"Just - I'm just sorry."

"Boys?" Mrs. Hudson opened her door and tsked at them. Sherlock handed her the key and she nodded to the stairs. "Tell me later?"

Sherlock nodded and led John up the seventeen steps to home. He had started to call Baker Street John's home. Of course it was still John's home, always had been, always would be.

"Soup? Or do you think you could handle something more -" Sherlock sat John on the couch and removed his friend's shoes.

"Sherlock. She, uhm, your sister -"

"What?" Sherlock stopped and studied John's face. "Don't tell me if you don't want to."

"No. I need to. I need you to know."

"Okay." Sherlock sat down on the floor in front of John and waited.

"She was 'E,' the woman, the woman I texted with. I didn't know until she told me today, she had to tell me, I couldn't recognize her, or her voice from that one time when she spoke to me at the bus stop, she...she's a lot like you, but even more...I'm telling you because I think it's important. I think she's got something bigger planned, I don't know what, but she's not finished. I'm sorry. I should've -"

Sherlock moved to sit next to John on the couch and sighed as he settled John into his lap. He stroked his hair and asked again. "Soup?"

"How can you keep forgiving me? Over and over, Sherlock. I don't -" John stuttered to a stop.

"John." Sherlock made John look him in the eyes and again John saw everything he needed to know. They had spent so much time hurting and forgiving one another, that they had forgotten who they were.

John reached up and touched Sherlock's face again, and was surprised to feel tears sliding down his friend's face. "I thought I had lost you today, John. Not just to someone else, but for good this time. I thought I had lost my chance to tell you."

"Tell me what, Sherlock?" He wiped Sherlock's tears away with his hand and waited.

"I love you."

Was it that simple, John wondered to himself, but he bit his lip and nodded. "I love you, too."

"Soup?"

"Soup."


	8. Chapter 8

Soup was duly ordered, and duly eaten, then Sherlock flipped through the crap telly until he found something he could tolerate once John was asleep.

Somehow John found it easy to relax with Sherlock's fingers simply resting in his hair, it made him feel more solid, perhaps? He wasn't sure, and realized that it didn't matter. All that mattered was that they had a chance, another chance to - what exactly? He looked up at Sherlock and found that his friend had closed his eyes, he wasn't sleeping, simply resting, he supposed. John studied him for a moment, finally noticing the once fine lines that had deepened, especially around his eyes, and his mouth, and suddenly, John wanted to kiss him, more than anything he'd ever wanted before in his life.

"Why don't you then?" Sherlock sighed into his ear, and John rolled his eyes and had to laugh.

"You always know...everything." John turned so they were face to face.

"No. No, that's not true. I know very little, John. I don't know the important things."

"Like what?" John shifted so he was close enough to press his lips against Sherlock's.

"I don't know what you sound like when you -" Sherlock stopped as John kissed him softly, then pulled away.

"When I what?" John whispered.

Sherlock touched John's bottom lip with a single finger, and John shuddered. "When you allow yourself to lose control, to let someone truly love you, the way you should be loved."

John sucked in a breath, then kissed the finger that still hovered there. "No one has ever -"

"Will you let me try? I know it's not a good night for either of us, but, I, damn it, John. I'm so tired of not knowing. I want to know, if you - if you feel -" Sherlock's voice stopped. "Bad idea. I know. Sorry. Hmm. There's a Bond marath-"

"Take me to bed. Please?" 

"John?"

John smiled sadly at his friend. "I'm tired of waiting, Sherlock. We almost waited too long, please?"

Sherlock managed to grin at him. "We never do things the way ordinary people seem to be able to, do we?"

John shook his head. "But we aren't ordinary, Sherlock, we aren't like everybody else, hasn't that always been one of our problems? We don't think or act like 'normal' people. Not that I know what a normal person looks like, but, it's never been one of our issues."

Sherlock's booming laughter filled the room. Then he settled and rubbed his eyes. "No, quite rightly, no one could ever accuse either of us of being 'normal.'"

John managed to sit up, the worst effects of the tranquilizer seemed to be over, and he took Sherlock's hand in his. "Please, even if all we do is sleep, I just want to be next to you. Even if it's just for tonight."

Sherlock took John's hand in both of his long, tapered, roughly calloused hands and shook his head. "I'm afraid one night won't work for me, John. I'm, I - I'm crap at this, I love you, John Watson, and I want, I need - I don't know what is coming next, but I want you by my side, in all ways, for always, if you want me."

John stilled next to him and Sherlock muttered to himself. "Damn."

"No. No, it isn't that, Sherlock. God, I want - I want the same, I just didn't think, didn't know if you could ever forgive, ever trust me to - after -"

John looked down at their hands, their fingers had become entwined, like a puzzle, he couldn't tell where Sherlock began and he ended. 

"I trust you with everything I am, John. We have both made so many mistakes, but we are still here, together, for some reason. I want to try, will you let me try, let us try together?"

"Could be dangerous," John whispered.

"I'm counting on it," smirked Sherlock as he lifted John's hands to his lips. "I'm counting on it, Dr. Watson."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this verse, John already knows about Sherlock's scars from his time away, as he learned about them when he helped to take care of him after the events in TLD. He still has feelings about them, of course...
> 
> and yes, I bumped the rating up perhaps a bit early, but we can assume things are happening soonish...

John leaned into Sherlock's side as they walked slowly to Sherlock's room; both were exhausted, both trying to make sense of things that just didn't make sense, might not ever make sense. The only thing that seemed to make sense oddly enough, was them, together, finally.

John stopped walking and glanced up at Sherlock before they entered his room, as if checking to make sure if Sherlock really wanted this, now, at a time when they were both so raw, and fragile -

"When would be a good time, John?" Sherlock's voice seemed to surround him; softer, warmer and somehow improbably deeper than normal. He kissed John in a way that removed all doubts, reminded him how long they had both waited for this moment when they had finally let all the walls between them fall away. Sherlock pushed the door open with his foot, not wanting to stop kissing the man in his arms at last, afraid perhaps that John could vanish if he looked away or let him go.

"I'm here, Sherlock. I'm truly, wholly yours, please believe that? I'm just sorry -"

Sherlock shook his head and kissed John one more time, silencing the noisy thoughts in both of their minds, then he began to unbutton his cuffs, before John laid a trembling hand over his fingers. "Please. Let me? I want to see you, feel every bit of you."

The detective nodded, and it seemed to John that Sherlock was giving him everything at this moment, trusting him completely with his heart, his mind and the soul that John knew he possessed, though he knew Sherlock was doubtful. John undid the buttons slowly, then he kissed Sherlock's fingers, learning the contours, the scars and most sensitive spots of the hands he had spent years admiring, and to be honest, he had wondered what those fingers would feel like as they traversed his own skin, dreamed of what they could do, and now, he was moments from finding out.

"John," Sherlock murmured, his eyes were closed, his lips were gently parted and he looked as if a gentle breeze could knock him over. 

"I have you, Sherlock, I'm here." John unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt, and pushed it carefully from his shoulders, the strong shoulders that had carried far too much the last few years. John blinked back tears as he traced the reminders of Sherlock's time away and the more recent damage he himself had caused. Sherlock's fingers covered John's and his eyes opened, the slivers of bright blue forgave him once again, and would continue to do so until John stopped searching for it, until he ceased needing absolution.

"Please, John." Sherlock's broken whisper brought John back, back to the darkened room, back to the man whom he loved more than he could ever tell him in words. "I need -"

"What, love, what do you need?" 

"Everything, I want, I need you, just please -"

John nodded and whispered back, "yes, love, I know." He pressed his lips over Sherlock's heart, then helped him to sit on the edge of the bed, and undressed him efficiently, yet with care and above all, with love, before undressing himself, then guiding them both gently onto the freshly made bed.

Their eyes met again, and John hoped Sherlock was seeing the love he felt for him as plainly as John was witnessing in Sherlock's.

"Yes, John, I know. I've always known."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a flashback...mention of Sherlock's time away, and John sees the scars for the first time

Sherlock had known, even before he searched John's eyes before allowing him to change the bandages a few weeks earlier. 

He had laid a still timorous hand over John's, and cleared his throat. "You need to know, before you see. I, there are, things that happened to me, I have never spoken of and after today, I won't ever again, so I need you to listen carefully. First of all, you need to know, you are not responsible - yes, for the recent, uhm, damage," he cringed as he saw John pull away slightly, but he tightened his grip on John's hand, and heard him take a breath then blow it out slowly. "You are not to blame for the old scars, not even Mary's. Just as I was not, am not, to blame for her poor decision making, neither were you for my poor judgment and the viciousness of those who held me captive."

"How long, Sherlock?" John managed to squeak out, as Sherlock began to shift so he could slip out of his time-worn dressing gown and t shirt. "How - oh dam - " John sputtered as Sherlock was now standing, his back turned towards John, and though his ribs were tightly wrapped, John could see the ridges and blemishes that marred his friend's skin.

"Long enough, I think it was only a week or two before Mycroft stopped it, but it felt - it felt like months." Sherlock was no longer speaking to John, but more to himself.

"And when you came back, that night, the restaurant...shit." John buried his face in his hands and did not move for a long moment or two. "I never apologized for that, or for making you stand up for me - that was unnecessarily cruel, and -"

Sherlock turned and laid one hand on John's back the other he placed in John's hair "Stop," he whispered fiercely."You didn't know, John, you couldn't see, because I didn't let you see, I tried so hard to give you the life I thought you had chosen, the life you wanted, with Mary, the possibility of a real family, a sense of stability -"

"Bored. Sherlock. You'd think a former assassin couldn't be boring, but, damn, as much as I loved her once...no...now I know I stayed because I owed her, I owed her for rescuing me when you were dead. She tried so hard to be normal, what she considered average, I suppose and at first, yeah, at first, it was nice to know I had a girlfriend who I knew would be around to have dinner with, or go to the local or even just go to the cinema - damn. It doesn't matter. I, I need to undo the old bandage, and make sure - is standing better? You could sit on the edge of the bed and -"

Sherlock turned to face him and John's breath caught again. The love John had never seen from anyone ever in his life was shining in Sherlock's sparkling eyes, as he sat down slowly on the edge of the bed and waited.

"Right." John began to undo the tape on the bandage, and Sherlock placed his hand over John's once more.

"You don't have to do this, John, I can manage." Sherlock's voice was little more than a broken whisper.

"No. No, I do, have to. I want, damn, I want to take care of you, I should have known, I should have been here for you - but all I've done, all I've ever done was -"

"Give me a reason, John. That's all, you gave me a purpose. All of my life, I've searched for puzzles, ideas to occupy this," he pointed to his own head, and sighed. "This brain of mine thought it needed problems, questions, all it needed was you, to make it slow down enough, you were a mystery from the moment we met, those things I knew about you, anyone could have seen those external clues, but what I couldn't see, couldn't know was what lived inside your heart and your head. I have risked all I am, all I ever will be, time and time again, simply to get to know who you are."

John snorted as he began to unwrap the bandage gently, "I'm very simple."

"No." Sherlock's breath hitched as John's fingers pressed lightly to feel for how his injuries were healing. "You are not, John. You are the most infuriatingly complicated person I've ever met and - damn."

"Sorry, didn't mean to, are you okay?"

"Honestly?" John nodded, and Sherlock noted with a sigh of relief that John didn't flinch or turn away. "Honestly, it still hurts like hell, I'm going to take a bath before you put a new one on if time allows?"

"Of course, let me run it for you, please?"

 

Sherlock blinked up at John's worried face and whispered, "sorry."

"No, it's fine. Where did you go? If you don't want to tell me, I understand."

"The night you saw the scars for the first time, when I let you see them, when you -" Sherlock closed his eyes and grimaced as he felt a tear fall from his eye. "Damn. When you took care of me, you were so gentle with me -"

"You deserve nothing but kindness from me, Sherlock, you know that, yeah? We don't have to do anything tonight, if you don't want to, if it's too soon -"

Sherlock shook his head and kissed John's palm, then moved his friend's hand lower so John could feel, could know what Sherlock needed from him. "It's taken us so long to get here, I don't want to wait any longer, please?"

John smiled and kissed him, and could taste Sherlock's smile, and his tears on his lips. "Neither do I, love. Neither do I."


	11. Chapter 11

They somehow managed to take their time, Sherlock's eyes never leaving John's, and John realized suddenly as Sherlock whispered his name that he was making love for the first time in his life. "Sher - I - oh, damn." He felt Sherlock's lips on his own, forgiving and confessing everything and nothing, as they moved together, exorcizing the ghosts that still remained. At last, John collapsed against Sherlock's heaving chest, and they took one long breath together, before John started giggling. The giggling became great sobs and Sherlock's arms tightened around him, then his voice was at John's ear, no, it seemed to surround him, almost caressing him.

"I love you. I love you, John, always have -" He drifted off to sleep with Sherlock's words ringing softly in his ears, only to wake a couple hours later to Sherlock shivering beneath him, moaning his name.

"Sherlock?" John shifted to look down at Sherlock's face, and closed his eyes. His friend's eyes were wide open, seeing nothing, nothing that John could see.

"What do I do now, what do I have to do to keep John safe? Haven't I done enough?" Sherlock asked of the darkness, before he closed his eyes again and began to snore quietly.

"I'm here, Sherlock, I'm here." John pressed a kiss against Sherlock's chest and once again felt strong, possessive arms encircle him, doing more than anything gravity had ever done to keep him connected to the earth. John understood, perhaps had always understood that Sherlock was his touchstone, his very center; without him, he felt disconnected from anything and everyone else that he had believed mattered to him. Finally, finally, John had returned home, back to where he had always belonged.

"I love you, too, more than I ever thought I could love anyone," John mumbled as sleep once again overtook his senses.

 

"John?"

"Hmmmmph?"

"John." Sherlock was holding a mug of coffee and sitting next to him on the bed. "Mycroft."

"Huh?" John blinked against the bright February sun and struggled to sit up.

Sherlock was fully dressed and in his eyes lived a mix of emotions; anger fought with desire, but the overwhelming force John could sense from him was sadness, a sadness that could immobilize him if the detective allowed himself to feel it.

"Sherlock?"

"It is what it is, John. It's shit, but -"

"We need to know if she was telling me the truth."

"What?"

"We only have her word that she is who she claims to be."

"Why would anyone pretend to be a Holmes?" Sherlock growled, then got up and began pacing, mumbling to himself.

"Moriarty? Could she be, but how? Why? It means -"

"It means that Mycroft has lied about everything, lied to you, your entire life. We need to force his hand."

Sherlock stopped pacing and their eyes met again, as he knelt at the bedside. "You have an idea, John. Tell me, tell me you have a plan? Because I can't think anymore -"

John stopped his lover's words with a finger. "It's movie night, yes?"

Sherlock nodded, then began to smile as John whispered in his ear.

"Perfect. It might just work."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile...the smarter brother needs a bit of help from his PA...

"Anthea."

"Sir?"

Mycroft was unsure how to begin, but cleared his throat and threw caution to the wind. "If a woman gives a man her private number, and perhaps invites the man for a drink..."

"Sir."

She was enjoying watching him squirm a bit, though she kept her face neutral as always. She put her phone in her pocket and waited.

"What would be an appropriate response?" He managed finally.

"If the man were interested in said woman, the appropriate response would be to phone her and make a date to have drinks."

"A date...?"

"Surely, you have heard of them? When two people who like each other go out and have fun?"

"Fun?" Mycroft wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Anthea rolled her eyes and finally snapped. She pulled out his phone from his briefcase and handed it to him. "Oh fer chrissakes, Sir, call Lady Smallwood!"

"How did you -?"

She sighed and took her phone out of her pocket, and began texting away as usual. "PAs, like receptionists, know everything, Sir. I thought you knew that. I took the liberty of adding her private number to your contacts."

"Will you -"

"Sir. For once, this is leg work you must do on your own."

Mycroft nodded and took a gulp of air, then blew it out slowly, and found the number in the hundreds of names, and pressed a single button.

"Alicia?"

"Mycroft. I was hoping I'd hear from you."


	13. Chapter 13

Mycroft checked his pocket watch again, the third time in ten minutes, he calculated. Damn. He rechecked his appearance in the hallway mirror one more time, as he replayed the conversation from just two hours ago.

 

"Alicia."

"Mycroft. I was hoping I'd hear from you." She waited for him to continue, and he swore he could hear her grin, there was something in her voice, that sounded a bit cheerful, if not triumphant.

He paused and drew in a breath, then looked over at Anthea who was busy doing whatever it was she did that kept him on schedule. He was unaccustomed to feeling wrong-footed when it came to etiquette. That's all this was after all, an exercise in etique -

"Yes, well. I was wondering if you weren't busy tonight. I do know it's rather short notice, but would you join me for dinner at my place in two hours time? I do realise you may have made other plans, but as you said, I haven't quite made up for my inexcusable breach of -"

"Manners?" She definitely smiled then.

"Quite."

"I accept. Shall I change for dinner? Or is it casual night at the manor?"

"Whatever makes you comfortable, I was going to make a simple pasta dish, if that is satisfactory?"

"Sounds perfectly appropriate, Mycroft. In two hours, then."

 

He had turned off his phone and was about to ask Anthea to stop at the shops so he could pop in to pick up a few items.

"The items you need will be delivered shortly, I assume you will be making the fresh tomato and olive oil, a bit of fresh basil? You have a bottle of wine chilling already that will be a good match, and for dessert, that apple tart from the bakery that you are fond of will do nicely."

"Yes, that will be quite satisfactory. Anthea -"

"Sir. If I'm speaking out of turn," He had narrowed his eyes at her and she had the good grace to blush slightly. "Sorry, Sir. I You have know her for years, she knows you better than anyone, it is just dinner, Sir."

 

He felt slightly underdressed in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, but he was going to cook, no need to wear his jacket.

Door bell, that was the door bell, breathe, just remember to breathe.

He ran his fingers through his hair and walked to the door.

"Alicia."

"Mycroft."


	14. Chapter 14

Anthea had been right, of course, she was always right. Alicia accepted a glass of wine and sat at his kitchen table as if she had always belonged there, relaxed and her imperturbable self. He put on a pot of water and set it to boil, then pulled out a package of the fresh pasta he had made a couple of weeks ago from his freezer. 

"You make pasta?" She asked in wonder.

"Passes the time, and I find making it releases stress. I don't often have someone to cook for, but it works in a pinch."

She nodded, then quietly nudged him out of his reverie as he watched the water change with a single question. "You've never told Sherlock about Sherrinford, have you? He doesn't know about -"

He turned on his heel and stared at her for a moment, then somehow recovered his voice, as he remembered how well she knew him and his secrets. "No, of course he doesn't. He thinks Redbeard was a dog, and as far as I know, he has no recollection of his, of our sister."

"I'm sorry, Mycroft, but I always wondered. I've never known how you've been able to keep such a secret without it -"

"Haunting me?" He managed a sad smile then picked up his glass and sat across from her at the table. "I don't sleep much, as a rule, but on the rare nights I do, she's there. Mostly as she was as a child. She could see right through me; she was brilliant, Alicia, if only -"

She reached across the table and covered his hand. He froze, or at least that is what it felt like. "You did what you thought best, Mycroft, but he will find out some day, you have to know that. Secrets do tend to come out, in one way or another. You, of all people, know that better than anyone." She watched his face and after a moment removed her hand. "I'm sorry if I've overstepped."

"No. No, I've just, it's just I'm not accustomed to being touched. I seem to have grown a bubble over the years, and very few people have dared to breach it, outside of Sherlock, when he was working on the Magnussen case. And he was actually high as a kite then. I've learned not to expect kindness, Alicia, it's something I cannot afford to offer others-"

"So you don't expect it for yourself." Her eyes glittered sadly at him. "When I approached Sherlock about Magnussen, he reminded me so much of you when I first recruited you, but with a different energy, he's never minded 'leg work' has he?" She smirked at him a bit. "He wasn't using then, he was in pain, but trying to work through it, there were stacks of old files everywhere; Dr. Watson was on his honeymoon, and he was at loose ends, but there was a brightness about him, an eagerness to take Magnussen on. I do believe he hated Charles even more than I did. He did his best to work the case before resorting to the easy way out, to the drug use, I mean. He truly did, but he couldn't find a way; he wouldn't even take money after everything that happened, he would deny it now, but he saw the pain I was in and took it on himself. I believe you do that as well. You don't have to do it on your own. Haven't you been on your own long enough, Mycroft?" She took another sip of wine then nodded at the pot of water. "I do believe your water is boiling?"


End file.
